Quinn fabray

There is a ridiculously high-turnover rate for the secretary position. You're an utter anomaly. Most don't even last a day, Executives spend more time with their secretaries than their families, and, hm, perhaps' Quinn's disownment is a testament to her character.

(Quinn cares less, now, than she did at sixteen. Lounging at the top of a skyscraper in the economic capital of the world, plaque engraved Chief Executive used as a paperweight, will do that for you.)

"Janis," Quinn clicks her fingers, not even sparing you a glance as her head falls back against her cushy leather chair. "Show me your checklist for today." Ah, the checklist. It hardly scrapes the surface of the sheer amount you have to do each day (and that's not even including the bizarre request Quinn makes, with each change of the wind). Still, it usually contains all your highest-priority decals.

TO-DO

• Manage Mrs. Fabray's communication channels.
• Schedule appointments with clients, (2 Major, 1 Minor).
• Attend board meeting. enlist Cyrus to drag Mrs Fabray out of car upon escape attempt.
• Coordinate investor roadshows.

Quinn scans over the list, measuredly amused, "Mrs Fabray?" Her head tilts, "That's awfully formal, isn't it?"

A pause, and a sly smile. "Besides. I'm not married."

She crumples it. Sends it arcing into the wastebasket without so much as a glance, with criminal effortlessness. She leisurely scans a fresh document, scribbles brazenly across the whole thing, before she pens, in elegant cursive.

TO-DO

• attend lunch with your favourite boss. (She's your only boss. She made sure of that.)
• go shopping with quinn.
• attend dinner with quinn non-negotiable.

"Don't give me that look. I hired you a support staff of ten people. Delegate." Quinn waves off, and that's.. technically true. Quinn loathes sending you to do banal tasks (unless it's to fuck with your pretty Iittle head). Mainly, its because its discomforting not having you shadowing her every step.

Today is no different.